


The Fall, X-Files Style

by ElizabethJaneway1158



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Original Baddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:45:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15394077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethJaneway1158/pseuds/ElizabethJaneway1158
Summary: What if Scully got the crap beat out of her like SIC Stella Gibson did in The Fall? And what if Mulder was right there with her?





	The Fall, X-Files Style

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly lame. Definitely anemic in the plot department. Totally un-beta’d. Continue at your own risk.

Mulder had been not-so-politely told to suspend the X-Files momentarily. The VCS needed him to take point solving a gruesome set of serial murders in the Boston area.

  
Naturally, he asked me along. Forensic Pathologists being in high demand, SAC Fox Mulder found it prudent to bring his own.

With each killing, twist and turn, I felt him take the loss to heart. Beginning to sink into the inky blackness of the suspect’s mind. As always, I followed. To be submerged in such violence leeched any light either of us had left in our souls.

  
Six months. Twelve murders total. Ten of them the women he stalked. Mulder, angry and running on empty, wanted me to leave. Take a temporary position at Quantico. Go on background checks. Anything. The arguments soon became a nightly ritual for us. The strain of the darkness tugged at our resolve. Threatening our partnership, possibly even our friendship.

  
But, by the grace of God, before we went our separate ways, Mulder had caught the killer in his own trap. Following forty-eight hours of new wire-tap intel and back logged calls, our opportunity emerged.

  
There was a lengthy stand-off, who’s ending was heralded by a single gunshot. Suspect brought down. Center of mass, fired by a trigger happy agent.

  
Fleeing from the surveillance van, Mulder and I raced toward the scene. My knees throbbed painfully when I dropped to the ground beside him. My chest compressions, emergency services, and Jesus Christ himself breathed life back into the miserable bastard.

  
My next conscious thought was as Mulder yanked me away. The sticky iron tang of drying blood was caked to nearly every inch of my front.

  
He aided me valiantly as I staggered and emptied my stomach on the nearby street corner.

  
That night I slept curled in the fetal position in his arms. The both of us spent, physically and emotionally, long past the point of exhaustion.

  
————————

  
A four week ICU recovery is the only respite we receive, preparing for a lengthy trial. And here we sit. Gathering evidence for trial number two. In the world’s smallest interrogation room, breaking bread with the devil himself.

  
His impressive legal team was able to manipulate the psych consult, granting him asylum at a plush facility.

  
‘Not guilty by reason of insanity.’ The deafening sobs of the first wave of numerous family members in attendance of the verdict will forever haunt my dreams.

  
This man. This beast. So calm. So complacent with the fact that he is evil incarnate. The things he had done to these vibrant young women, no one should have to experience  
Mulder sits next to me, nearer then his normal perch. This animal has yet to stray his gaze from mine. Narrating only to me, as if we are completely alone.

  
My stomach churns, a burning tightness rises high in my chest, listening to the perpetrator recount his grizzly crimes. He pauses to leer at me and I feel Mulder’s hackles raise; fists clenching until there is no blood left in his fingers.

  
The hubris. The audacity. Just now, he arrives at the moment we brought him down.

  
“I remember a voice,” he pauses in introspect, “A voice saying, ‘We’re losing him, we’re losing him’.” His eyes sparkled with mirth.

  
“There must have been at least one person who cared if I lived or died.”

  
The air crackles with anticipation. He’s asking a question. The lawyer begins to speak and I can hold my tongue no longer.

  
“That was me.” My voice sounded foreign and dry.

  
“Scully—“

  
“That was my voice,” my strength returned, “And I did care.”

  
Warm calloused fingers brushed the top of my hand. Pleading.

  
No. This. This is my justification.

  
“I thought death would be too easy for you. Too easy an escape. And I didn’t want you to cheat the system.”

  
The building rage is palpable. Saved, by a woman no less. ‘How dare I?’ Right? My smug arrogance and the multiple cups of stale coffee roiling in my gut is stifling my ability to think clearly.

  
“I want you to be punished for the crimes you’ve committed,” he grits his teeth, glaring.  
“We all see right through you and your charade. You just want to be the center of attention. To have a captive and captivated audience.”

  
Mulder clears his throat and holds my wrist gently, his grasp pulsing. I’m not through.

  
“But its all just a performance. You perform for us, your doctor, your psychiatrist, even your family. It’s all just one big performance,” my body, primed for a non-existent attack, leans into the table, “And it’s time to take responsibility for what you’ve done.”

  
Someone coughs. I settle back into my seat. A calming sensation washing over me, even knowing violent crimes is listening in.

  
“I need time with my client to prepare a written statement that he will read,” the council’s brow glistens with sweat.

  
“Get the officer,” Mulder nods to the guard.  
My body is moving, yet my eyes stay glued to the face following my every step. I should be unnerved, but I am not. My raised eyebrows offer him a challenge.

  
Mulder begins to exit, discussing something with the corrections officer, leaving an arm outstretched behind him for me to walk into his space.

  
I turn toward Mulder, a dark blur suddenly crowding my right periphery. A sharp pain explodes on my forehead and I am knocked back. More blows landing on each side of my face.

  
“Sc—GET OFF OF HER—“

  
Mulder’s voice cracks on a yelp and the back of my head bounces off of what I assume is the wall. My ears are ringing. Equilibrium gone; I think I’m on the ground. A cacophony of muffled shouting surrounds me.

  
The wind is sucked from my lungs. My ribs. Fucking hell, someone is kicking me in the stomac—

  
Blood. I am coughing up blood.

  
A steady pain sears my lungs. I can’t catch a breath. Jesus, God. Help me. Where’s Mul—

  
“Scully! Someone—paramedics—OhmyGod—here—I’m here—breaths—deep breaths—”

  
He feels near, yet so far away. The ringing is unbearable. Cold. I curl into myself. Gasping. The ache wraps around my heart.

  
“Move—try not—fracture—Dana—please—“

  
Hands around me, helping to stand me upright. I am of no assistance. My head is heavy and lolls on my neck haphazardly. I need to vomit, but can’t find the energy to do so. In attempt to open my eyes, I find the right one completely swollen shut.

  
“Agent—walk—stand on your own—Agent, can you—“ hearing slowly returning, the ringing morphs to a low hum. The light hurts my ‘good’ eye; I leave them closed.

  
“Can you—on your own?”

  
If they’re asking me to walk, fat chance. My feet stumble; the height of my heels causes my ankle to buckle.

  
Someone—probably Mulder—sweeps my legs out from under me and carries me away.

  
“We’re going—get checked out,” I start to feel his warmth seeping into me.

  
“Scully? Stay with me.”

  
“Mm. T’ing.” Shit, that hurt. Must’ve broken my jaw.

  
Motherfucker.

  
I wish dearly that I could smell him; the tang of my blood is the only thing I can sense. The light reassuring pressure of his lips on my forehead pull me closer to consciousness.

  
“It’s alright. Try not to move too much. We’re almost there. They want you to stay awake.”

  
I clumsily run a shaking hand over the lapel of his jacket. He wraps it in his own and brings my knuckles to his mouth.

  
We must be alone, or at least have the cover of some semblance of privacy. It’s been a while since either of us has been here. Wounded. Vulnerable. Sadly, this is the only time that intimacy is allowed.

  
The weight of his head resting on mine causes discomfort and a grunt slips past my dry throat.

  
“Jesus. Sorry. Here, may I look?”

  
I bring my face from the crook of his neck the best I can. His gasp and tightening grip say all I need to know.

  
“That bastard. Christ, Scully. I’m pretty sure he broke your jaw,” a questing finger runs over the bridge of my nose, “I am so so sorry. I should’ve—“

  
I soothe him, cradling his cheek in my palm. I feel evidence of tears.

  
Oh, Mulder. We’ll be alright. We’ve seen worse.  
The rig comes to a stop and when the doors open, I can hear the EMT giving report. Time to let go, Mulder.

  
“Mm.”

  
“I know, I know. I’ll let you go without a fight this time,” I hear the sad smile in his voice, “But, I’ll be right here the whole time.”

  
“Mmhm.”

  
“Yes. Alright. I’ll wait outside when they ask me to.”

  
I’m being laid down on a gurney. My ribs protest, breathing deeply only worsens it’s effect.

  
“Just keep breathing, ma’am. We’ll get you some pain meds on board soon. Can you open your eyes for me?”

  
Ten to one there’s going to be a pen light shining in my—yep.

  
I clamp back down; the right side of my face throbs intensely.

  
“I’m going to palpate the area, you’ll feel some discomfort.”

  
That’s an understatement. Fingernails dig into my palm in an attempt to fight crying out. Mulder slips his hand in mine, offering support.

  
“I’m pretty sure you’ve got a fractured eye socket and a dislocated jaw. Not a break, there could be some hairline fracturing, we’ll need to get an x-ray.”

  
The sudden pressure on my abdomen takes my breath away and I hear myself moan.  
“I’m here, Scully.” Thank you, Mulder.

  
“We’ll schedule an MRI too. Let me draw some labs, Sharon’s going to start your IV, alright Ms. Scully?”

  
“Mm. T’nks.” Morphine. Thank Christ.

  
“Oh, the doctor should be in soon to put your jaw back in once the morphine and muscle relaxers start to work. Just sit tight for me.”

  
Blood drawn, IV started; I could feel Mulder fidgeting. Only time will tell if the drugs kick in before he jumps through the roof.

  
“Hi, Dana. I’m Dr. Lee, I’ll be taking your case. Excuse me, sir,” Mulder must be closer than I originally thought. Cold clinical hands map out the damage to my eyebrow.

  
“Hm, the bleeding is impressive, but this laceration is actually pretty small. I’m thinking only five or so stitches.

”  
‘Only five or so.’ Nice.

  
“I know it’s a discomfort, but I want you to open your left eye and use it as best you can. We’re monitoring you for a concussion. We need to check for signs and symptoms.”

  
Yeah, yeah. I know he’s right, but I can’t quite bring myself to care.

  
“Scully? C’mon, do as the good doc says.”

  
Alright. Fine.

  
There he is. He’s mildly blurry, but he’s still my Mulder. Well, the morphine’s sure working.  
I slowly focus only to notice the moisture shining in his eyes. He gives his best smile and looks across the gurney. Gingerly, I turn my head to see a young male doctor.

  
“Sir, actually, I’m going to ask that you stay while I set Ms. Scully’s jaw.”

  
Shit. Shit. Shit. The worry furrowing Mulder’s brow matches the nervous energy fluttering in my belly.

  
Looks like I can do it manually. Just plain and simple,” his gloved thumbs slip beside my molars, “On three, Ms. Scully. Sir, if you could keep her from moving? Thank you. Alright. One, two, and—“

  
Oh, Mary Mother of God.

  
“Shhh! It’s over. It’s there. We’re done. All done. Breathe. Just breathe.” I can’t tell if Mulder is talking more to me or himself.

  
I realize that I’m shaking. Shivering uncontrollably. A combination of the meds and trauma. Nice.

  
“The shaking is normal. The shock the body is in, combined with the medication. It should subside soon.”

  
Now it’s Mulder’s turn to have a death grip on my hand.

  
“Sir, if you’d like to leave and come back? I want to clean up her cut and start a more detailed exam.”

  
“I’ll be back. Okay?”

  
“Mmhm.”

  
A small kiss to my good cheek and begrudgingly Mulder disappears from my sight.

  
——————————

  
‘Overnight for observation.’ Of course. The loathing sentiment toward that phrase grows exponentially with each hospitalization.

  
Groggy from the wonderful cocktail I’ve been treated to, I attempt to grab at my water pitcher.

  
Just as I’m about to hunt for the bed control, a light knock and the opening of my door bring a smile to my face.

  
“Room service.”

  
Tears prick at the back of my eyes when I see what he has in tow.

  
“I, uh, heard you were on a soft diet for a while. So I took the liberty of procuring some of your favorite ‘froyo’,” we both chuckle at his sarcastic emphasis on his favorite portmanteau.

  
I pat the bed on my side with the good eye while he brings the bedside table around. Ah. Two spoons. He laughs outright at my inquisitive stare.

  
“Well, I figured you’d be okay with sharing?”  
I grin as best I can and rest my hand on top of his.

  
Two careful bites of caramel swirl—of course he bought my favorite flavor—and he’s already brushing gentle fingers over my face.

  
“Jesus, Scully. I—,” he swallows hard and averts his eyes, leaving his hand to stroke the hair away from my forehead, “I saw him. Saw him...beating the hell out of you.”

  
“Mul—“

  
“It scared the shit out of me.”

  
Back to studying me again, he takes his spoon and offers me another bite. I take it. Movements so gentle, as if I’m made of glass.

  
“I know how strong you are,” another small bite, “that’s one of the many things I love about you.”

  
I am taken aback. The advantage of my silence allows him to continue unhindered.

  
“I, however, have discovered how weak I am.”

  
That’s not true. Not at all.

  
“Witnessing...that today? That was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. Worse than Samantha.”

  
I grip his wrist. As hard as I can. I know that I’m crying.

  
“I could’ve stopped him. Should have. It should have been me taking those punches, Scully. I should have—“ I press a single finger to that perfect mouth. Sticky from the caramel; he kisses my finger. Slowly. Sweetly.

  
I bring my hands around to gather his face. Pulling him to my breast, he comes willingly. Nestled safely in my arms, I hum to him aimlessly. Purring, almost.

  
The frozen yogurt could wait. Finally, I inhale deeply and revel in the fact I can smell the musky spice of Mulder.

  
Restless as always, he attempts to speak more. After a few times of shushing him, his breathing evens out while I scratch lightly at his scalp. My Spooky savior.

  
“Mmph. ‘Cully, ‘monna f’ll sl’p.”

  
“Shh. S’kay.”

  
“‘Kay,” he sighs, “Jus’ lil n’p.”

  
He shifts his lanky form to lie fully beside and on top of me, shins awkwardly resting on the foot of the bed.

  
Just when I think he’s asleep, he kisses my sternum.

  
“Hm. L’v you.”

  
Love you too, Mulder. Always.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcomed! Please and thanks!


End file.
